In Joy And Sorrow
by Ceasefire
Summary: [All chapters rated PG except the fifth] Royai ficlets, ranging in both genre and rating. Inspired by the seven themes of the 7 Snogs Livejournal Community. [Drabble the Seventh: Jealousy. COMPLETE!]
1. The Good With The Bad

These are new set of drabbles I'm writing for the "7 Snogs" LiveJournal Community. This drabbles was written for Theme Three: Embrace. Please enjoy.

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Their relationship had never been a simple one, regardless of whether it was within their workplace or mingled in messily with their private lives. Riza Hawkeye assumed it to be natural that even now, after so many years together with Roy Mustang, she was still picking out his flaws, probably seeing him differently to what other women saw in him.

"_Well for one thing, he's lazy,"_ she thought, caught somewhere between rightful bitterness and some form of bemused affection as she watched him twirl his pen between his fingers and stare towards the heavy wooden door like it was denying him from the rest of his life. Perhaps it was useless to remind him that he should be working, but she does it anyway. She knows that if she attempts to keep him on task (or continues to annoy him, depending on whether you were taking it from his perspective or hers) he'll eventually get it done. Unfortunately for him he seems unable to realize that the more effort you put into something during the designated timeslot, the less you have to rush when something is overdue.

He was also untidy (or perhaps she was too clean?), but that came hand-in-hand with the unwillingness to work. She often just volunteered to file his reports, because more often than not, they ended up as a towering, dusty stack at the corner of his desk. She wouldn't have minded so much had he used the time she gave him to catch up on the paperwork he was almost definitely avoiding. Usually, it was spent either scribbling on spare sheets of notepaper or watching her move about the office, regarding her paradoxically when he thought she wasn't watching, or breaking into the familiar, lady-killer smirk when their eyes met.

Of course, this was their working life. Sometimes her personal and professional lives meshed together with such strange perfection that it seemed strange to look at him in a different way.

Then there was the private side of their relationship, the side kept to stolen glances and brief contact in the office; the short-lived public moments where their eyes might hold a delicate gaze for the briefest of moments, or he might trace the curve of her wrist with his gloved hands, the rough material leaving the faintest line of pink across her pale skin.

This is where she felt the "good side" of him could shine through; where she could see the truer semblance of him and judge him in her own eyes without any outside interference on how he acted, what he did.

It was the little things that make her feel like she's falling in love all over again. It was the way they would bid each other farewell at the end of the day, take two different routes home and end up at the same location. It was the look in his eyes when he watched her from across the table as they ate in companionable silence, with Black Hayate curling around their feet, looking for scraps. It was the way his gaze consumed her nakedness and he held her close to him, like they were a couple long married.

And in the mornings, when she got up to leave for headquarters first, he would always watch her as she moved around the bedroom, fiddling with her hair with an air of supreme frustration, almost tripping over Hayate's discarded toy but recovering with grace and smiling as she watched the little mutt crawl under the bed guiltily, tail following body limply.

And before she left, she would sit on the side of the bed and let him draw her onto his lap and draw her into a last, searing kiss before they returned to the world of work and masks and make-believe.

And perhaps that simple sign of acknowledgement what she loved about him best of all. There were times when he needed her to be Riza and others when he needed her to be First Lieutenant Hawkeye, but the feelings of love and loyalty were always there.

And that was one thing that none of his flaws could make her forget.

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**Notes:** What was the "embrace"? Well, the final kiss was one, but the real "embrace" was supposed to be Riza embracing the highs and lows, and the public and private points of their relationship. It wasn't really clear (and I didn't write it as if I wanted it to be) but that was the hidden meaning, so to speak.

I hope you enjoyed this. One theme down, six to go!


	2. A Worthy Reprise

This was written for Theme 4; Embrace. Enjoy! I also disclaim ownership of Fullmetal Alchemist.

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The Ishbal War was not something Roy Mustang often wanted to remember. It was something that he tried to suppress from surfacing, that he avoided talking about unless it was vital. But, on the odd occasion he found himself looking back and trying to remember the few good times he had shared with his comrades in Ishbal; the moments that he had grappled at and reached for in the darkest of times, the last slivers of light before the sun was swallowed by the horizon.

The easiest scene for him to picture in his mind's eye was his best friend, Maes Hughes ecstatically waving the newest photo of his girlfriend Gracia about in the air and kissing it affectionately a few times, much to the utter disinterest of all the soldiers around him. Of course, this was probably the first thing that jumped to mind because Roy himself had witnessed the act one too many times for his own liking. Regardless of Maes's slightly tiring obsession with his wife and daughter, he had done what Roy had requested of him; kept his ear to the ground, reporting back to him with any information he may have found valuable.

On the other hand, Maes was his best friend. They both knew it was certainly going to be more difficult to win the trust and respect of personnel that had never known him as anything more than a higher-ranking officer; a power-hungry State Alchemist, apparently hell-bent on obtaining total military power, almost to the point of fixation and corruption. He thought it would be difficult to find anyone to follow him, to risk their personal career to aid someone with his reputation.

This was one of the few matters where he would willingly admit that he had been wrong.

When he had first met Riza Hawkeye and Jean Havoc, they had seemed an almost stereotypical picture on the battleground; Hawkeye, the rough-around-the-edges female soldier, whom he had immediately underestimated and thought that her apparent strong will was nothing that his charms couldn't handle. Oh, how wrong he was. Not only could he not work his superior charms on her as easily as he had thought, she seemed almost amused by the idea that he was trying. Havoc, on the other hand, was the one that amused him personally; his constant miserable failures with women (including Lieutenant Hawkeye, who had given Havoc the same withering look she had given her commanding officer) gave Roy a sick sense of satisfaction as women were generally drawn to him like moths to the flame.

All three of them; Maes, Riza and Jean; had been through the Ishbal War with him, talking when he wanted to talk, and keeping a silence vigil when he had returned from the battlefield, a broken man. All of the days and nights of violence seemed to meld into one after the first week... however, there would be an afternoon he knew he would always remember.

They had been told the War was over; that they could pack up and return to Central. Despite the fact that they were the ones that had caused the genocide, they were happy to be taken away from the stain blood, the smell of ash and the taste of food so hideous it could barely be ingested. Many people around him were desperately happy; cheering, hugging others and pulling random people into embraces. Hughes ran up, slapped him on the back so hard it knocked him onto his knees, which were shaking with relief, and had dashed back into the rabble just as quickly. Havoc seemed to be eying off the surrounding female officers, obviously trying to decide which one to try his luck on. And Hawkeye was standing next to him, awkwardly clutching at her left elbow with her right hand. The dying sunlight hit her face and she blinked, adjusting her eyes. Roy smiled, and placed his hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. Her head snapped around and he drew his hand away sharply, eliciting a slight confused frown to her face. And then he smiled at her; he reflected that it was probably the first true smile he had given anyone since he'd first been sent to war. When she smiled back, albeit inelegantly, they held eye contact for the briefest moment before turning back to the amber glow of the sunset.

This chapter of his life had finally felt its end, but he knew he would carry the memories, good and bad, upon his shoulders for the rest of his life. And of course, he would never forget or undervalue the people who had carried him.

**END

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**Notes: **The other people were snogging; the pair don't actually have to be the people doing the kissing. I thought it would bea little OOC for them at this point, to be kissing madly, plus I enjoyed including Hughes and Havoc. Anyway, thanks for reading. The next one shall be fluffy!


	3. Likened To The Battlefield

Heh, apparently I'm one of the few that appreciates having a small gesture over OOC-ness... ah, well. This was written for Theme 5; Rumour. Thanks for your comments, guys; they mean a lot!

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It was unfair to say that one invited the other to any of the numerous galas and formal engagements the military held for both its soldiers and financial backers, but somehow, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye always reached a silent, mutual agreement and ended up walking through the doors hand-in-hand. Almost immediately behind walked Havoc, Fuery, Falman and Breda, all of whom looked extremely uncomfortable in their dress uniforms, especially Breda, who had made a valiant attempt to do up his jacket over his generous figure. None of them particularly enjoyed these galas, even if they were obligated to come, and they were often one of the last groups to arrive and usually the first to retire for the night.

The men were always expected to wear their uncomfortable formal uniforms, including hat to these occasions. She, despite being a soldier, could wear a gown but looked no more comfortable than the rest of his subordinates. He was more accustomed to putting on a brave face for these events.

When they were seated at their assigned tables, with only each other as familiar, comfortable company (and Hawkeye only seated with him because she was his 'partner for the night') the talk started between the men, with the women often sitting on the sideline, expected to keep a decorative silence. They discussed politics, tactics, the state of the areas there were in charge of, and eventually the wives and partners would join in once the subject converged around the latest rumours making their way around the ranks. While the other women tittered about who had got who pregnant or who had been seen being unfaithful or whatever the latest 'news' was, she listened with a polite silence and only spoke when she was spoken to, all the while fiddling with the hems of her heavy dress and fanning herself shamelessly with her gloved hands, as she was lacking the hand-painted silk fans that most other women associated with superior military officers treated themselves to. He knew that although she manifested herself in self-control her patience often wore thin with the small talk, even if she did try her very best to mask it. That is why, as soon as dinner had been eaten and the majority of couples had made their way to the dance floor to ready themselves for the first dance, which was traditionally the waltz; he stood and offered her his hand, which she accepted without notable hesitation in front of others.

Riza's dress was the same vivid blue silken gown that he had become so accustomed to seeing on her at times like these; it was most likely the only formal garment she owned aside from her uniform. Compared to the other women's dresses it was quite simple, but apparently just as uncomfortable. Roy smiled as she hitched the edge of the simple layer of silk up to expose her low-heeled shoes, looking grateful for the small blast of cool breeze that brushed across her heated legs. She also wore a stole of pale pink about her shoulders, white gloves that reached her elbows and simple silver hoops in her earlobes. Her hair hung loosely down her back, perfectly straight and soft, not a hair out of place. She looked almost exactly the same every time, save a single difference in what type of earrings she chose to wear, but he couldn't help but admire her beauty. Perhaps this was because he was so used to seeing her dressed in a different type of formal clothing.

And then they would dance, trying to keep step while being perhaps the closest they had been to each other all night. Their gazes would stay locked upon the other's face, and somewhere between the delicacy hiding the compelling rush of heat and blood through their veins, they would hear comments on the bizarre amount of comfort and familiarity between the two of them. They would dance until he could feel her start to lag behind in her pace with the heat and tiredness, and she would carefully lean towards him and whisper in his ear that she would sit the next dance out. Almost immediately after their hands parted, he was bombarded with generals' wives, each with an ironclad grasp around a blushing daughter's wrist. Perhaps her face betrayed her, because the women that had been watching both her and her Colonel dance continued to mutter behind raised hands. They say love is like a battlefield; always the rumours of illegality, always the suspicion between friends and enemies alike, always the risk that one wrong move would be the end.

For the few remaining dances she would be content with watching on, finish a flute of champagne or occasionally being treated to dances by Havoc, Falman and Breda, and even Fuery if his boyish courage reached its utter epitome. However, he would always insist on returning to her for the last dance, as did most polite gentlemen at the functions. However, in reality they rarely danced to the final song.

Instead, he would reclaim her hand and take her out to the gardens, occasionally passing a couple that looked like they had just finished doing something that was probably much more frowned upon than what they were about to do. The younger couple would then stumble back into the hall, and Riza can almost remember herself from Ishbal days; slightly foolish, utterly in love, but never able to pitch her voice so high as to giggle about it.

And when he felt comfortable with their location he would stop just a suddenly as he would grab her hand to draw her outside with him and after looking around hurriedly like an unfaithful husband, secure his arm around her waist and embrace her. Their lips would meet and would kiss slowly, but with a passion that only old lovers going back many years could achieve. Roy broke away then, his eyes dark and passionate and almost frightening, and then he would and kiss the slightly breathless Riza again, tongue tracing irregular patterns across her palate and his arms pulling her ever closer, and she would envelop her arms around his neck and respond in turn. As the music died and the other couples begin to clap to signal the end of the evening they broke away from each other quickly, his lips finding her neck one last, hurried time before they would rush back into the ballroom to await dismissal like all good soldiers would.

Sometimes Riza wondered how long this cycle of love, work and rumour would last before it merged into one compound and became unstable, but she would look at Roy and feel as if she could live life like this forever. And then the final speech would finish and they would both make their way to the door as quickly as they could without seeming utterly impolite. They would share the military car with Havoc (Fuery, Falman and Breda were quite effective at hitching rides with other people who lived in dorms) and Riza, usually being the most sober of the three, would drive. He enjoyed teasing her about this (_"Driving in a pretty dress like that?"_) but once Havoc was gone, and they had arrived at his house, he would give her a final, intense kiss before making his way up to his apartment and leaving her to drive home for the night.

The next day, they would be back to being formal, a commander and his subordinate. However, even if it was for the most fleeting of moments, she enjoyed his full attention and cautious, breathtaking love.

**End**

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I got a little bit carried away with this one. It's a little over one thousand words, but I'm actually quite fond of it. I thought it was a nice take on the obligatory military gala fic. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed it. All reviews and feedback is appreciated greatly. 


	4. The Lengths You Go To Impress

Here's a little cute drabble for you guys; fear Black Hayate! This was written for Theme 7; Milk. Please note that this is slightly AU, and enjoy!

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"Good morning, Sir," Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye held the office door open behind her carefully, making sure that the puppy that she had taken in a day ago was through the door fully before she shut it.

"'Morning, Lieutenant. How are you this morning?"

"Fine, Sir."

The pup snuffled around the floor for a moment, taking in the new surroundings, and lolloped over to Mustang, tail wagging furiously from side-to-side. As he reached down to scratch the dog's ears, he asked, "Found a name for him yet, Lieutenant?"

"I'm afraid not Sir. What actually concerns me more is that he didn't want to eat anything at all last night."

Roy looked mildly surprised. "Perhaps he was just a little overtired? He looks pretty good to me." The pup's tail wagged briefly as the Colonel looked at him. Roy's eyebrows shot into his hairline as the little mutt walked under his desk, took hold of one end of his shoelace and began to tug.

"He's only a young dog, Sir." Roy's attention was once again averted to his Lieutenant, who looked slightly concerned. "To be honest, I was expecting one of those puppies that ate anything."

Roy paused for a moment, trying to think of what could be causing this lack of appetite, and trying to ignore the soft tugging that was inching his right foot slowly away from his desk. "What were you trying to feed him, Hawkeye?"

"Just some beef, cut into smaller pieces so he could swallow them properly. And some dry dog food." Roy couldn't help but smile at the thought of his First Lieutenant mothering the puppy and cutting his food into smaller portions, or offering him dog biscuits one at a time. "Do you have any idea how old the little guy is?"

"No, Colonel. But I would assume that he's quite young."

"Did you try giving him milk?"

"Milk? I thought milk made dogs ill, sir."

Roy smirked. "Not necessarily, Lieutenant. He's still only little..." A slightly harder tug on the undoubtedly tangled shoelace, "... and frankly I wouldn't be surprised if he was somehow separated from his mother before he was old enough to look after himself properly."

"I suppose so, Sir. Do you know if there's any milk in the mess hall that I can give him?"

"Allow me to fetch it for you, Lieutenant," Mustang stood up, and almost tripped over his own tangled shoelaces, much to the apparent delight of his First Lieutenant's pet, who barked happily at the Flame Alchemist's expense.

_"The lengths you go to impress a woman, Mustang,"_ he chastised himself and he made his way towards the kitchens.

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When Colonel Roy Mustang returned with a half-filled bottle of milk and a small saucer for the puppy to eat off, he found Hawkeye doing paperwork with said animal on her lap, and Havoc lounging casually against his superior's desk, smoking.

"Havoc, shouldn't you be working?"

"With all due respect, Sir, so should you," Hawkeye answered for Havoc, who was busy taking a long drag on the cigarette.

"Well, I'm so sorry that I went to get food for your dog," Mustang grumbled quietly.

"Apology accepted," Hawkeye replied without looking up from her paperwork. "But I'm sure I can handle the feeding from here."

It amazed Roy that his Fist Lieutenant could change from a reasonably open person to an insane paperwork enforcer in the space of five minutes, but he sighed and submitted, placing the bottle and plate on Hawkeye's desk and returning to his own, picking up the pen unwillingly and beginning to pour over the first sheet of paper.

Hawkeye poured a small portion of the white liquid into the bowl and placed it on the floor near her feet, where her dog was lying. His ear pricked up as she put the saucer next to him, and he sniffed the dish curiously. He then stood on all fours, and began to slowly lap up the milk.

Havoc grinned. "Well, would you look at that?"

Riza allowed herself a small smile as she ruffled the dog's ears. "I didn't know you that you knew so much about dogs, Sir."

"Well, Lieutenant..." Colonel Mustang clasped his hands together and rested them in front of him. "I am a Dog Lover, after all."

And as quick as a flash, Roy had made his way over to his Lieutenant's desk and was kneeling next to the pup, who had just finished his milk and was now licking his tiny chops with a look of contentment.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" Roy said, stroking the length of the dog's back with his hand and leaning in close. This was probably the biggest mistake he made.

The puppy lunged forward and stuck his muzzle directly into Mustang's mouth, his tail thumping wildly against the leg of the desk. For about two seconds, no one moved. Then Mustang yelped and jerked backwards violently, thus knocking the dog unsteady and causing it to land flat on its behind under Riza's feet.

"Please don't be cruel to my dog, Sir," Riza sighed, picking up the whimpering pup and placing him on her lap.

"_HIS TONGUE!_ His tongue went right down my throat!" Mustang gargled, wiping his mouth violently on his shirtsleeve and coughing violently. 

"Must feel different to be on the receiving end, huh Boss?" Havoc grinned, and Roy shot him a look that could have shattered glass. "No, seriously! The little guy had the 'tongue hurricane' action going and everything!"

"Hurricane..." Riza murmured, and both Roy and Havoc looked at her questioningly. "What do you think about 'Hayate' for a name?"

"What about 'Black Hayate'? After all, her slipped in there like a shadow; very professional," snickered Havoc, earning another dirty look from his commanding officer.

"I like it, Second Lieutenant," Hawkeye nodded in affirmation. "Very well... my beloved dog is named Black Hayate!"

After one more, quick splutter, Roy had just enough breath to grumble, "You have no naming sense..."

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**Notes: **Haha, that was fun to write. Fear the almighty tongue of Buraha! Now, that WAS a snog. I hoped you enjoyed reading this slightly crackish drabble, coz I sure enjoyed writing it! 


	5. Live for the Moment

Not much to say here, just please heed the change in ratings, and be warned that this drabble contains **lime, violence and death. **I don't want to offend anyone here! This was written for Theme 6; Rumour.

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Love and War. When one of these two polar opposite occurrences suddenly sprang into your life it was hard to think about anything else, let alone have time for both to happen at the same time. They seemed to take over your life, affect every one of your senses and draw you in until you find yourself immersed.

Roy Mustang And Riza Hawkeye had been told this so many times; first by their commanding officers when they'd entered the military academy, secondly by Hughes in Ishbal, and finally by each other, as they huddled into each other's naked forms in the darkness, listening to the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance and waiting for the dawn that never seemed to come. Perhaps it's convenient for them, she thinks, that the desert is hot in the hours of sunlight and bitterly cold at night, because in the darkness there were no prying eyes that looked for signs of illegality, and they could lie together, sheltered from the chill by each other's warmth while in the day there was no chance for love.

There should have been no chance for love in the first place. They say that there was no time for love in war but she feels there's no time for war when in love.

Roy's fingertips shift against her hip, but she already knew he was awake; he felt awkward and almost irritable, although these feelings seemed directed more at himself than anyone else. She doesn't need to question what is wrong; he seems to have this debate with himself every time they find their way into each other's arms.

"Do you think what where doing is right?"

"Which part of it?" she replies, and gets a questioning look in response. "The fact that we kill innocent people by day, or that we fraternize by night?"

A small smile comes to his face and he draws her closer, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "A little bit of both I'd say, Lieutenant."

She nodded; there was no point in arguing the fact. Sometimes, she was sure that he hated the fact that she rarely argued against what he said, especially concerning their relationship. However, she saw no point, and she was also sure that he realized that there was really no point as most of what he said was true, and she fell in love with him realizing this.

Finally, she can see the sunlight breach the horizon, and he sighs the wistful sigh of a lover, bringing a brief grin to her face. Soon to higher-ups would start calling that it was time for war. She slides away from her Colonel and gathers the clothes, redressing in the hopes of getting back to her own bunk before anyone discovered their affair. Somehow, she doubted that many who saw her would care; they were too dedicated to their own survival.

One last embrace; lips swift and fleeting against bare skin.

"See you on the battlefield, right?" he whispers, and she feels his soft, humorous against her lips more than she ever hears it.

She rarely argues against their relationship, but somehow she's content with that. After all, all is far in love and war, right?

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From the quiet of the afterglow to the violence of the battlefield, Roy Mustang watches his loyal Lieutenant Hawkeye gulping down another of the pills from Xing that stayed trembling hands when sniping. They were mass-produced in the state dedicated to medicinal alchemy, although he highly doubted that taking so many was good for her health. Then again, perhaps he should have been more concerned with the more apparent threats to her life. 

"Sector twenty-seven has been approved for elimination, sir."

"Any high ground that you could use as a vantage point?"

"I'm hoping so, Colonel."

The rest of the allied soldiers behind them, they walk in a silence more tense that companionable. The people they're up against are no more than a band of rebels, although it was proven that they'd had some professional training and were perfectly capable of killing. As they approach the desolate outpost, housing only a few weather-roughened buildings even their breathing seems to fall quiet. There were no apparent signs of life, but years in the army have taught them that looks can be deceiving.

"Scout the area," Roy orders; so quietly that she can barely hear him above the wind.

Riza nods, finding her throat dry and her lips seemingly fastened together. The sand scrunches softly under her feet as she moves to kicks open the door of the first seemingly empty structure, knowing that if the drugs hadn't taken effect her hand would be trembling.

She hesitates for the slightest of moments, waiting for the rest of the soldiers, including Mustang ready their weapons and scout the surrounding area cautiously; Roy simply raises his gloved hand and nods his approval, and Riza notices that compared to her stilled limbs, his hands are shaking with the very slightest of nerves.

Gritting her teeth, she knocks the door open with surprising force and swings her pistol out in front of her, and she feels Roy tense behind her and she's sure that he's frozen with the anticipation of battle.

Riza's sharp eyes dart around the revealed room, her heartbeat echoing in her chest and her breathing sharp across her dry lips. She is met with emptiness; relieving, calming emptiness.

Behind her, she both hears and feels Roy's sigh of relief. Apparently, his relief came a little too soon because an instant later she hears the sharp sound of a sniper's shot and one of the soldiers standing just inches from the Colonel falls to his knees, a scream caught in his throat as he nurses the fresh, bloodied wound in his stomach.

Swearing softly, Roy flinches around and sees the glint of the sniper's scope in the distance, coming from the glassless window of another one of the crumbling buildings. The next thing he's aware of is Riza grabbing his hand and yanking his back against the wall, as yet another shot sounds and drives itself into the back wall of the building.

"Sir, we're caged in," she whispers, and he realizes with some shock that she's right. The door was the only escape route, and as they were unsure of how rapidly the sniper could fire, and how much ammunition he or she had left... and judging by the screams coming from outside the building from the other soldiers, it wasn't very smart trying to escape at this point, either. From the floor, the injured soldier groans and coughs weakly, blood spilling over chapped lips.

"Leave him, sir," she whispers so quietly in his ear that he has to lean closer to her to hear her. "We have to be logical. He's not going to live."

He tries to steady his breathing as he thinks how she can almost read his mind; how she is so logical that it may seem harsh but knows that even if he did tried to drag the kid out of the way, he'd be dead before they got help.

"As long as we stay still, he won't hit us. He can't see us from here and where he can move while still covered would be limited..." The overwhelming sound of gunfire drowns out his words for a moment and she strains to her him over the deafening noise, "... as soon as the noise dies down we'll try to bait the sniper into misfiring and escape, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

A brief strained grin graces his lips and disappears just as quickly. "I hope he's not as good a shot as you, Riza."

"Si- Roy... if I get injured, I want you to leave me," Riza states evenly.

He frowns. "No."

"Far be it from me to order you around sir, but my purpose for being here is to make sure you stay alive."

"Don't say that, Lieutenant."

"Why, sir?"

His gazes at her so intensely it makes her stomach turn, "Because we're going to survive this, just like we survived Ishbal."

The sound battle outside has suddenly been replaced with the eeriest of silences.

Her reply comes in the form of a short nod and questioning look as he yanks the Pyrotex glove off his left hand and scrunches it into a tight ball in his shaking right hand. "I'm going to try and make him fire on the glove. If he does fire, I'm going to make a run for it and try to kill him. I'm not sure how many casualties have been suffered on both sides..."

In her heart, she knows that there's not much chance of a good sniper making a misfire, but she nods in agreement. There is nothing for them now but this one, risky chance.

Time seems to be moving in slow motion as Roy throws the glove towards the door in a high arc, and the seconds tick by painfully slow as Hawkeye's careful gaze watches the glove and her ears strain for any sign that the sniper has fired. And suddenly, it comes; the sharp whistle of the bullet piercing the air, and the cloth gets knocked backwards from the extreme force of the blow. Roy immediately launches himself into action and steps over the body of their fallen comrade and once again citing the glint of the sniper's scope in the sunlight, snaps his fingers and hears the pained scream (a woman's scream, he notes vaguely) as the sniper is engulfed by flames.

His head snaps around to look at Riza, a vicious expression of triumph on his face, and is surprised to see that the only emotion her face holds is utter shock. He is confused for the briefest of moments, but suddenly understands why she looks so afraid with perfect clarity as he hears the familiar snap of a gun being readied for fire.

To Riza it happens so fast that she barely sees it; the lone enemy soldier opening fire upon Roy, who is thrown back against the outside wall of the building they were just in by the force. Losing the strength in his legs, he slumps back against the wall, his face contorted with pain but making no sound. Her head says that like the soldier they watched die back in the building he is going to die. Her heart doesn't comprehend.

The male rebel that shot her Colonel has now turned upon her in her moment of stun and she notices that he's biting his lip so hard he's drawing blood. Riza notices the thick gold ring on the man's finger and remembers the glint of what they had thought was the sniper's scope in the sunlight and suddenly comprehends.

_There was no place for both love and war to exist simultaneously..._

"Stand in front of him." The man's hand is unsteady, shaking from mixed emotion of hate and sorrow. She feels the dead weight of her own pistol in its holster at her side, and somehow she knows this is the end. She raises her hands and walks slowly to stand in front of Roy, who is staring up at her with the last of his strength. She stares the rebel straight in the eye and waits for his to fire, but suddenly he is motioning quite violently for her to spin around to face her dying lover. She does so, and suddenly feels the tremors returning to her hands; whether the drugs have run out or whether she's simply afraid she doesn't know.

Even at the end of all things, he she that she sheds no tears for her own plight, and as she stares down at him, he once again hears the gun being prepared for fire and the last thing he hears before the shot is her hurried whisper of the three small words he knows now he'll never hear from her again.

And this is the time, as his weak hand can feel the warmth of her blood on his fingertips, when he decides that perhaps love and war coinciding was indeed something that they had made the very most of. This is the last of his thoughts before he passes out, Riza's vaguely warm weight painfully heavy on his legs and chest.

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**Colonel Roy Mustang and First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye were found dead from shots to the stomach and to the chest respectively. It is believed that Lieutenant Hawkeye died almost instantly, while Colonel Mustang may have lived for any number of minutes before succumbing to his injuries. May they find peace in a better place.**

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**Notes:** I think I just broke my own fanfiction morals... any comments? 


	6. His Safety

This one's quite short... only rated PG-13. This was written for Theme 1; Uniform.

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Some people were able to accustom themselves wonderfully to change, take every tiny alteration in their life very much in their stride and continue forward without so much as a brief glance back towards what once was.

Roy Mustang was not one of these people; he couldn't help but frequently look over his shoulder and mull over the days past. He worried over Ishbal and all that had occurred there; regardless of whether the military considered him a hero, in his own eyes he would always be a murderer. When Hughes had died, he had blamed himself for his best friend's death, felt the guilt every time he had to face Gracia and Elysia from then on.

Roy Mustang could not take any sort of change, regardless of whether it was for the better or worse, particularly easily; after Hughes had got married, it had taken him a while to adjust to not having a friend to drown himself in alcohol with. After the Ishbal War, he would wake up to any sharp noise and be unable to fall back asleep for some time. Being drawn away his usual life had unnerved him, and afterwards the soldiers were somehow expected to slot back into their normal routines with very little friction. It would be a lie if he said he had never found it difficult at all.

However, the one person that had remained amazingly steadfast and comforting to him throughout the whole time he had known her always reminded him that there _was_ an anchor of unwavering reason and normality in his life. That woman was Riza Hawkeye. The only two changes he can willingly draw to his mind when he thinks of Riza is her hair and her dog, and perhaps the only one of those two things that had had a direct impact upon him personally was that when she came to visit him, she always insisted on bringing Black Hayate. The little mutt always found a way to disrupt anything the two of them may have been doing together... naturally, this frustrated Roy but Riza had developed quite a soft spot for the pup and never had the heart to lock him out; he tended to cry.

She was still almost the same as she was when she was first transferred to serve under him during Ishbal; nearly always stoic but never unfriendly, taking his hand and guiding him towards the end of the road. When Ishbal had finally drawn to its terrifying conclusion, she chose to stay under his service and guide him towards his goal of becoming Fuhrer. At the times when he felt himself falter, she would take his hand and bring him back on track and he would once again give silent thanks to her for staying by his side, unwavering and supportive as both subordinate and friend.

He draws away from her for the briefest of moments to chuckle softly against the soft skin of her throat, and he shut his eyes slowly and simply held her close to him and listened to the rhythm of her uneven breathing.

"Sir?" she whispered, breathless against the shell of his ear. From under the bed, Black Hayate gave a soft growl.

His eyes open and she suppresses a soft gasp as his eyelashes brush against the sensitive skin on her throat.

"You still kiss the same as in Ishbal, Lieutenant."

Her slightly inquiring glance drew another smile to his lips, and he threaded his fingers through the back of her hair (long now; not the short, sensible haircut the women received during the War anymore) and drew her towards him again for another kiss. Their tongues briefly wrangle for dominance before he claims it and tastes her desire more than he hears her moan.

"I'm glad you've been here for me, Lieutenant," he murmurs when he once again breaks away.

"I've never regretted it, Sir."

Roy again smiles at her earnestness as he kisses her again.

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The next day, he finds himself alone in his apartment; void both of human and canine presence. This was the way it had always been; she disappears before Sunrise and thus ensures the safely of both their careers. Always efficient, always steadfast in his hectic life.

Perhaps, one day their uniform procedure would be to wake together as a couple and arrive at work together without shame, but until that day, she would always be by his side, steadfast and wonderfully secure.

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Herm... I didn't have much of an idea for this one, as you can see. Ah well; I thought it was pretty cute. Only one to go now! 


	7. Decadence

Thisfinal chapter was very much inspired by Hola-Meg-A-Cola's fic, Troublesome Feelings. go read her fics; she's awesome. This was written for Theme 2; Jealousy. Also, **all of these fics are stand-alone.** They are not relatedwith one anotherat all.

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Not much had changed about Brigadier General Roy Mustang; the military still dominated his life, although as he got farther into his thirties he was seeing less and less fieldwork. Most of the work he did now seemed almost irrelevant; looking into petty crimes, serving the occasional guard duty for a low-key event. War was a young man's game, and in the Amestris Army's humble opinion he was apparently getting past his prime. Eventually, he would probably end up supervising a low-key military outpost tucked into some desolate corner of the country.

It had taken him a very short while to realize he was the only one who didn't seem to be changing; Havoc moved back to the country to help his mother run the family business after his father passed away; Breda was given an ordered transfer to Dublith; Farman had been injured in a hostage situation, retired on his compensation money and was still living somewhere in Central; Fuery had been needed for his technological skills in Eastern, and had still not returned from the six-month contract that had now been running for over four years. Perhaps the most painful of these departures, however, was that of his adjutant Riza Hawkeye who had been shot in the same incident that had felled Farman. Although she had made a surprising recovery from the shot to the back, her health had never quite been the same thereon after and she had been honourably discharged. That was the way of the army, he mused; as long as the human race procreated they would easily be able to replace any pawn that they deemed useless to their cause.

So then he had been left alone, the faithful Lieutenant Hawkeye finally falling to his cause. Occasionally they had tried to see each other outside of the workplace but the entire affair had seemed awkward; now that he considered it, he had known very little of his Lieutenant past the blue uniform. How he had a new adjutant, and a new set of subordinates who radiated national pride and undying loyalty to the country. Perhaps this is why he could not feel comfortable with them; they were loyal to the Government, not to him as a person. He was the person who kept them alive, gave them signed slips for ammunition refills, handed them their paycheques at the end of every fortnight.

A soft cough brought him from his thoughts; the bartender looked at him sternly and slid the bill over the counter. Roy blinked; vision slightly blurred from alcohol but managing to hand the man the right sum of money the second time around. Not bothering to finish his half-full glass of bourbon, he stood and walked carefully out of the bar; he never stumbled when he was drunk but his gait was always marginally slower to allow for error.

As he pushes the bar door open he almost trips over a large black dog. Cursing the animal as it slinks under one of the dusty metal tables set outside the bar, he can feel another set of eyes on him; paranoia forged from the Ishbal conflict that had occurred years ago.

"You're drunk, Sir."

A soft, reminiscent sigh escapes from his lips, which quickly curve into a small smile at the familiar voice.

"It's been too long, Hawkeye."

"Three years," she asserts as she gently tugs on Black Hayate's lead to draw him out from under the tables.

Then comes the predictable silence in the conversation; neither is sure what to say, so Roy decides to go with the stereotypical pleasantries coveted by old friends.

"How is your health?"

"Fine, Colonel... a lot better than it had been," she adds to her short response.

"Good to hear... and it's Brigadier General now." She smiles for him, but the effort of keeping up the charade shows on her face. "What brings you to this part of town?"

An unsure smile, almost cautious. "Actually, an old acquaintance of mine owns this place."

"Oh really?" A pointless question. _'That'd be Mister Sunshine in there, right?'_ Then a question too rude to ask; he knew his First Lieutenant and he was sure she still wasn't past criticizing his every move.

"Yes, he..." their conversation (if you could even refer to it as a proper chat) was cut short by the bar's door swinging open and 'Mister Sunshine' slamming the door shut behind him. It was only now that he learned the guy's real name (Thomas, according to the amazingly fake cheery note in Hawkeye's voice).

"Coming Riza?" Thomas says, his arm making its way around her waist, and at this point Roy really doesn't know whether his thought are rushing past in a blur or whether his mind has gone utterly blank with blind suspicion.

"Yes..." Riza struggles to look back over her shoulder as she's forcibly steered away by the man's arm. "Goodbye, sir!"

And for the first time in their fifteen-year relationship, Roy knows he's the one that will be going home lonely.

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Riza hated the way he could stir up all her emotions with only one encounter after so many years; he shouldn't have affected her so strongly, but once again she found herself going back to him, even after she had met up with Thomas. He had been a classmate at her high school; he had taken her on dates before their graduation but after that she had entered military college and had been whisked away to Ishbal to serve a pointless cause. He was practically the same as she remembered him from her teenage years; tall but built heavily, brunet hair now greying at the sides with age, hands still finding their way to places where they didn't belong she thought bitterly as she smacked his left hand away from her chest.

When they reach her apartment he leans in for a goodnight kiss, a gesture she swiftly ignores as she gets out of his car and releases Hayate from his position in the back seat.

"Same time tomorrow?" he shouts after her retreating form.

"Perhaps," comes her curt reply. She doesn't know anymore. How one man she's known for most of her life can cause so much inner turmoil is beyond her. Her grandfather had always told her, before he passed away, that you should be true to the ones you love, for in them you would have thine earthly joy. She had first heard this at a young age and didn't entirely understand, and suddenly she wishes she could go back to the innocence of childhood to look at herself from hereon out.

With a sudden shock she realizes that the last few years of her life had been lived as a lie; he somehow gave her purpose, gave her name meaning. When she had been with him in the army, he had been all she had dedicated herself to and more, and without him in her life she seemed incurably empty. With him, she was First Lieutenant Hawkeye, regardless of injury and retirement; to him, she had always needed to be Hawkeye, not Riza, the life that seemed almost surreal upon reflection.

Why did he make her feel this way?

She wonders if he still lives in the same apartment block she had taken him home to nearly every night of her being his subordinate, she wonders if she should call ahead, she wonders if he's even made it home yet. Either way, she knows that if she finds him she will answer the question that has been on the edge of her mind ever since they parted ways. Grabbing her coat and telling Hayate to guard the house for good measure, she sets off to find Mustang.

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A bar tab of twice what you expected to pay is never quite enough, apparently, because the first thing Roy Mustang did when he got home was open a bottle of scotch that Hughes had given him years ago with trembling hands. She takes a swig and sighs deeply, trying to overcome the shock of seeing Hawkeye again. The bizarre attraction between the two of them had once unnerved him more than either of their deaths may have done, but after he came so close to watching her die he was once again proven wrong by his own logic.

He slumped on his bed, watching the few cars outside dapple light across his whitewashed roof. As the alcohol found its place in his system he let his eyes droop shut lazily, revelling in the way the liquor tended to clear his mind of all problem, at least until daybreak.

When Roy hears the knock at his door he decides to ignore it, assuming they have the wrong apartment because no one in their right mind visits at this hour unless under invitation. However, the tapping persists and every sharp thump echoes in his skull like a drumbeat. Sighing, he drags himself off the bed and walks steadily towards his front door; cautious of any trip hazards he may have left around the place when he hadn't anticipated on getting quite so inebriated. When he opens the door he lets his eyes focus for a moment, before blinking in surprise at the blonde woman standing in his doorway.

"Lieutenant."

"Just Hawkeye now, actually." She resists the urge to salute, as she stands rigid in front of her old commanding officer.

"Any particular reason for your being here?"

"Actually, Sir..." she invites herself over the threshold and he sidesteps to let her through. "I was thinking about my life before I was dismissed."

He nods and falls onto his tattered couch whilst massaging his temples.

"I wanted to thank you Sir. You made me a whole person and I will always feel that I owe you everything."

Her words held the weight of emotion, and he sighed. "Sit down, Hawkeye." Slowly, cautiously and under force of old habit she sits herself down beside him. He takes her hand and murmurs, "You shouldn't have to feel indebted to me."

Their eyes meet and their lips meet somewhere in between; it doesn't really matter who initiated the kiss. Suddenly, it's just like times gone by; all that matters to her is him, and all he can grasp of reality are her chapped lips against his and all over his face and neck.

She has made her own way into his lap and as he breaks away to draw breath he slides his arm around her waist, draw her in to kiss him again; this time passionate and slow like all old loves should be.

Perhaps now, they can realize that they have kept each other all along.

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That concludes my 7 Snogs Royai venture. As for the Jealousy… well, Roy was jealous of her 'boyfriend' of sorts, and the last line is also a reference because if you jealously keep someone, you keep them possessively and carefully. Thanks for reading these fics guys. 


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